


The Moth & The Flame

by RisingEmpress



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Corpse Desecration, Dark Will Graham, Do I need a cannibalism tag?, First Meetings, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Immortality, Lots of Cuddling, M/M, Match made in heaven?, Mild Gore, Supernatural Elements, Temporary Character Death, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, cannibals in love, i guess?, slight necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22576261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisingEmpress/pseuds/RisingEmpress
Summary: We've both seen the monsters that crawl about the earth. I suspect you're one of them.Hannibal finds himself responsible for the death of a man so enchanting he decides to honor him in the best way he can. What he's not expecting is a resurrection.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 32
Kudos: 299





	1. Caged Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> It's good to be back in the creepy biz! I apologize for any mistakes and potential hurt this may cause. Let me know what you think and enjoy.
> 
> _"O Candle! Why does the moth love you?  
>  Why is this restless soul devoted to you?_
> 
> _Your charm keeps it restless like mercury  
>  Did you teach it the etiquette of Love?_
> 
> _It circumambulates the site of your manifestation  
>  Is it inspired with the fire of your lightning?_
> 
> _Do the woes of death give it the peace of life?  
>  Does your flame possess the quality of eternal life?"_

It was underneath a sparkling sky where Hannibal met Will. After clouds of rain had surpassed in the midst of tall, harrowing trees on a sunken road somewhere on the outskirts of Calverton, Virginia. The only light in the world was the glimmering stars, the bright headlights illuminating the path and the flash of a golden mass coming stumbling from out of the forest and into the road.

The car spins along slick asphalt, wheels screeching before the sound of flesh against metal silences all. Hannibal briefly considers the pleasurable rush the accident had brought him before finally stepping out to assess the situation. He approaches the figure with neither caution nor concern, but interest.

Bare skin torn free, bones unnaturally twisted and crushed. The boy bathed in red. It was as to be expected except for a flickering of yellow light beaming from underneath the skin, and Hannibal kneels to follow the only urge that dominates his entire innards; to reach out and rest a hand on the boy’s ribcage.

Prominent ribs press up against his palm before lowering, repeating in slow and jagged movements. Hannibal suspects a broken rib, but the glow trapped underneath intrigues him far more. It flutters unevenly with the boy’s pulse, making Hannibal’s palm light up in a fleshy pink before retreating, leaving the skin sickly pale.

_My god, what are you?_

The blood darkens under the moon, allowing Hannibal to come to the realization that he’s not solely responsible for the entirety of injuries at hand. Old scars and flesh wounds suggest not only battle but prolonged torture and captivity. Someone had successfully caged light, and Hannibal’s chest stings with jealousy.

At first he didn't want to admit the heartbreaking truth; that as the golden light went out so did the rare creature’s pulse. Hannibal sits silently for a moment, treasuring the peaceful company or perhaps waiting for a miracle. It’s the small hint of tragedy that makes Hannibal run his fingers through the dark locks of hair, revealing long eyelashes and appealing features. The boy was without doubt beautiful, and maybe that’s why Hannibal brought him home.

~

Transportation of the body was significantly easier when it didn’t require air or comfort. And with already broken bones, Hannibal didn’t feel guilty about bending a few more to stuff the boy in a suitcase before lifting it out of the trunk and bringing it up the steps to his home in Baltimore. While inside, it took him a few minutes to figure out what he wanted to do with the body. For now at least, he settles on bringing it upstairs to run a bath.

When he opens the suitcase the sight is both devastating and horrifically arousing. Under unnatural lights the mass of wounds are even more apparent; dark red cuts and marks that look desperate and careless all the same. The work of a brute.

_What have you done to deserve this?_

Hannibal pulls a bruised leg from behind the boy’s head and momentarily considers twisting it backwards in hopes of waking the dead —and of course for his own amusement— but he simply stretches it out before doing the same to the other. It bores him to pop the dislocated shoulders back into place, and briefly wonders why he bothers. Death was miserably evident.

He rolls up his sleeves and lowers the body into the water, watching as blood, leaves and filth rise to the surface. He sits on the edge of the bath like that for a while, rinsing the bruised body as carefully as he would a live one. Something has him convinced he owes the creature that much. A final moment of being cared for, or just a passing that was less unpleasant.

Just as Hannibal is about to duck the boy’s head under the surface because well, oxygen wasn’t a necessity, the sight of fresh blood catches his eye. As he curls his fingers in the boy’s hair and leans his head forward a string of blood runs from his slightly parted lips. Not exactly astounding. Could just be internal bleeding, but if Hannibal was intent on cleaning the body he may as well pay attention to the inside as well.

Curiosity and excitement flutter as butterflies in his stomach as he leans his beloved corpse’s head back and opens his mouth, finding pieces of flesh as he traces a finger from the back of his throat, behind teeth and under his tongue. Where it came from Hannibal doesn’t know, all he can be sure of is that it’s raw. Torn free with ferocity and consciously chewed to bits and swallowed. Perhaps the flesh of his captors. Hannibal’s chest swells with insufferable affection.

The fact that this deviant of a boy will forever remain a mystery to Hannibal is frustrating enough to feel the desire to get rid of the body, but the water is getting cold and Hannibal adores the way it doesn’t change the skin’s texture. There’s no reaction when he slides four fingers down the throat, pressing down on the sleek wetness and scraping up more bits of flesh from the larynx to the back of the tongue and out. Perhaps he could keep his doll for a night or two.

~

As meticulous as Hannibal had been cleaning the body it was still riddled with blue and purple discolorations, open wounds and cuts. It looked indescribably bizarre in Hannibal’s bed; a tragic and brutal view of death encompassed by soft pillows and expensive sheets. His sleeping beauty, serene and unmoving. Hannibal doesn’t object to casting himself in the role of the beast.

Loneliness is an emotion Hannibal had always deemed pitiful and dull; so tiredly humane. He doesn’t want to indulge in the idea that it was the reason behind his actions, instead thinking he was doing the precious corpse a favor. However he can’t deny how purely wrong it feels to lie down next to it.

As expected, he gains no reaction when he traces the soft structure of the boy’s face with his fingertips. None at all when Hannibal leans in close to bury his nose in the dark curls behind his ear and inhale. He still holds the aroma of Longleaf Pine, sweat and blood. There’s something sweet in the mix as well; golden honey or Magnolias.

Perhaps it’s the alluring scent that after hours of stillness and silence makes Hannibal’s eyes finally fall shut and allow him to drift off into a peaceful sleep, one hand firmly placed on his beloved corpse’s chest. If he were awake he might have noticed the glow returning to the body, expanding as two flames meeting underneath Hannibal’s palm. It spreads through broken limbs as a wildfire, bringing bones to creak and grind together as they find their rightful place. He might have noticed the soft thudding of a pulse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will meets the human who bathed and tended to his corpse.

It was in a bizarre place where Will met Hannibal. Underneath weighted, luxurious satin and surrounded by extraordinarily soft pillows. Dried blood sticks the smooth fabric to Will’s newly revived skin and he wishes he could voice an apology, but his body doesn’t cooperate with his wishes to move or even lift a single eyelid. Exhaustion is not to be underestimated. 

It’s an overwhelming relief to feel the warmth in his limbs again; the swirling of his whole essence activating muscles to operate, his heart pumping warm blood through his veins and lungs cheerfully accepting air before expelling it just as joyously. He would smile if he could.

The human beside him begins to stir at sunrise. Throughout every second of the night his hand had remained on Will’s chest, almost as if he was afraid the physically impossible would occur —which it did— but to the man’s fortune Will was still in a state of recovery beyond either of their control. He was resurrected, but even if he weren’t immobilized Will couldn’t definitively say he would have left anyway. To say he was intrigued was an understatement. He wasn’t just appropriately grateful, but rather… charmed.

The peculiar man is without doubt a doctor of some sort; examining him with the same delicate and precise touch as he had his corpse. His hand lingers on Will’s chest, presumably captivated by the swelling glow underneath soft tissue. It’s a soothing touch. Even though Will was entirely exposed in a stranger’s bed, being touched and fretted over, he was convinced a man who’d spent so much time and effort catering to his corpse wouldn’t harm or disrespect him now.

Will briefly wishes the human contact would persist throughout the day, or just continue until he drifted back to sleep, but the hand retreats along with the comforting weight next to him as the man stands up. Will can do nothing but listen to the little clicks of a wardrobe opening and the soft sound of limbs slipping through fabric. He’s being watched, he’s aware of that, and his body remains heavy as lead and unmoving as a mountain as he listens to socked feet trailing out of the room.

~

He dreams of sunlight. The earth. Pitiful humans and their fears, and the monstrosities that haunt the weak. Evil spreading across the globe as a disease, passed down through generations and infecting the young to repeat the cycle. He dreams of battle and death, of starvation, the plague and the cure.

It’s a scalpel that wakes him. It burrows into his new skin cells, tearing them apart with precision and purpose. It’s not painful, not even when the incisions go deeper through layers of muscle. He’s content. Safe in the hands of his curious surgeon who’d dressed his wounds, mended his broken bones and held him close throughout the night.

He’s content to let the chips fall, until a greedy hand slides through flesh and wraps around bone, intent on finding the source for the glow that holds his entire being. With his chest laid bare and bloody he looks up to meet the man’s eyes —marveling in the faded hazel and dilated pupils— and whispers an apology before diving teeth first into his shoulder.

It’s meaty. Harmless. The human doesn’t shout or speak for the long seconds that pass as Will pins him down on the bed and tears off a chunk of his flesh to feast upon. Blood is gushing out of his open chest. His heart is pounding. He aches with hunger and sorrow, but the human remains motionless as Will’s teeth bump against muscles.

“You’ll kill me,” the man lies so softly, without fear or concern for his own life but rather the foreboding regret he’d miss Will’s true awakening after all this trouble.

Will retreats nonetheless; swallowing pieces of flesh and internally vowing never to be his human’s cause of death. They lock eyes for the first time and share the mutual feeling of fascination. Bathed in blood and reborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you like it! :)


	3. Essence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal's chivalrous nature persists, and someone finds it bewitching.

It was in a dream where Will and Hannibal finally met. Surrounded by the golden glow of a sunrise in August; pouring through glass windows, bringing the miniscule particles of dust to glimmer and shine. They swirl through the air as in a fairytale, and Will feels at home in this strange house. Feels at home with his wounded surgeon, whose trails of blood lead Will downstairs to the kitchen to soak up the sun.

The doctor is more handsome than Will could’ve imagined; tall, lean but sculpted muscles, dark blonde hair teetering on the edge of gray, and he looks triumphant in red. Will supposes he’d look more impressive if he weren’t struggling to focus on stitching up his shoulder, and wonders whether the reason was because Will’s naked, living body was too distracting. Or it was just blood loss causing the drowsy movements. For a moment he finds it both saddening and endearing how little it took to shake the wills of men.

“My intention was to wake you,” Hannibal nearly chuckles, staring holes at his brutalized shoulder as he closes the wound. “I suppose you can say I was successful.” 

“I suppose you were,” Will smiles carefully. He aches with guilt, for how well he’d been taken care of, loved and protected, and repaid it all by tearing apart this bewitched man’s skin and swallowing it. “I can’t exactly blame you for being curious,” he adds as he steps closer, trying to avoid the feeling of warm blood underneath the soles of his feet, and wets a dish towel under the tap. “You’re a man of medicine.”

Hannibal gives a small nod, allowing Will to tenderly clean the blood from his fingers. He turns his wrist willingly, feeling his fingertips pounding as the red is wiped away from every crevice of his palm. It’s a good sign, the heartbeat, how it bares its presence when Will’s clothed fingers trace Hannibal’s every vein. He feels as if he’s the one who’s been resurrected. Awakened from the deepest sleep. “You appear hungry, still,” he says with a gentle smile. His head spins mercilessly. 

Will turns away in shame, attempting to look anywhere else, but Hannibal pulls him closer by a hand around the back of his neck. “I insist,” he says, and although the words come out slightly slurred, there’s a glimmer in those hazel eyes that hint of unbearable excitement. “It would be a waste.”

It’s rather a curse than a gift to be given blood but not meat. To allow his tongue to simply appreciate what was given to him and not his teeth to pierce the source for more. It’s gluttonous, Will is aware. But he can’t deny the urge to rip the thread and go deep under the layers of skin. To feel Hannibal’s heartbeat rise before slowly withering away into nothing. He inhales the coppery aroma before forcing himself to turn away again. The hunger is anything but satiated.

~

To Will’s comfort, Hannibal had swiftly gone upstairs to presumably take a shower and get rid of the sheets soaked in blood. As not to tempt him further, yet he leaves Will in the traces of Hannibal’s essence as well as the lingering aftertaste. He follows the dots of red back upstairs.

The bed had been scrubbed clean of any indication of what had happened. Any evidence Will had awakened from death. Their brutal birth nowhere to be found. Will’s chest stings as he listens to the shower running on the other side of the door. His beloved protector was just on the other side, Will was aware of that, but he still finds himself missing his presence. Without his companion he doubts he’d be alive.

“You may come in if you’d like,” Hannibal calls from the other side of the wall, as if Will’s lonesome suffering plagued the entire house. He opens the door and doesn’t think twice before stepping into the shower and joining his human underneath the warm beam.

Hannibal looks pleased, albeit drowsy. He rubs the red from Will’s stubble like one would with a child. “I’d like to know your name,” Hannibal smiles and rests a hand on Will’s chest, the very place he’d burrowed his scalpel just moments ago, only to have it entirely healed under his touch. The interest to experiment with this boy’s gift was both revolting and arousing.

“I have many,” Will says casually, closing his eyes as the beam of water washes out dried blood from his hair before leaning against Hannibal’s chest. He buries his nose in his neck and isn’t entirely tempted to devour it. Just to feel humanity. “But you can call me Will. What should I call you?”

“Hannibal.”

“What are you, Hannibal?”

Hannibal’s neck gives a twitch in amusement. “I believe that was my question.”

Will offers a halfhearted smile. “Rest first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What would you do if you were Hannibal?
> 
> Let me know if you liked it! Thank you for reading, and come say hi on Twitter @ mikkelsmads.


	4. Blood

They sleep the day away, intertwined as closely as possible. Legs wrapped around each other and arms locked in their embrace. Hannibal buries his nose just below Will’s jaw, wishing so dearly to be smothered by his alluring scent, his skin. He can’t recall a time he’d ever felt so peaceful.

It wasn’t a part of Hannibal’s regular schedule to sleep until the sun had set, but Will had certainly needed the rest to regain his strength. The boy had slept like the dead, and it caused the smallest pinch of worry to keep Hannibal from relaxing entirely. But Will soon began to stir; running his fingers through his surgeon’s hair with a soft sigh. “You’re troubled.”

“I am,” Hannibal says softly, unsure of how vulnerable he could possibly be. After years of building walls it seemed unnatural to let his guard down for a stranger, no matter how fond of him he was. “Where did you come from, Will?”

“I barely remember,” he smiles against Hannibal’s neck before pulling away to meet his gaze. “I recall being sent here long ago to protect humanity from extinction, or evil. To heal.” He looks away with a pained expression. “But I appear to have caused more pain than anything.”

“You were held captive,” Hannibal lets him turn away, but studies Will’s expressions closely. It’s not that he questions his words, but rather how they affect him.

Will gives a small nod. “By men like you,” he smiles in sadness. “Curious. Determined. Bold. I was supposed to walk the earth undetected, but my need for survival made that difficult. They wished to know my power.”

A sudden strike or fear creeps into Hannibal’s chest, and it’s such a jarring emotion he can do nothing but contain it. He wonders if he truly desires to know what he’s asking, but in order to protect or care for either of them he is required to know. “What is your need?”

The boy looks at him with overwhelming sorrow and guilt, but it’s the kind that’s not seeking for help, but rather the dooming knowledge of how utterly helpless he was to his own body. 

“Blood.”

“Quite the contradiction,” Hannibal mumbles as he traces Will’s cheekbone with the back of his fingers. It appears to calm the boy. “What other names belong to you?”

Incapable of tearing himself from Hannibal’s soothing eyes, Will briefly wonders if Hannibal believes him to be the devil himself. It feels like a blow, but he can’t assign blame. “Phoebus,” he says, and watches his protector’s pupils dilate.

“Apollo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Let me know if you liked it and if we should continue this gruesome romance. In the meantime come say hi on Twitter @ mikkelsmads.

**Author's Note:**

> _"If you do not brighten this sorrowful world  
>  This burning heart's tree of Longing may not green up_
> 
> _Falling before you is the prayer of this little heart  
>  The taste for impassioned Love knows this little heart_
> 
> _It has some zeal of the Primeval Beauty's Lover  
>  You are a small ñër, it is a small Kalam_
> 
> _The moth and the taste for the Sight of the Light!  
>  This small insect and the Longing for the Light!"  
> \- Allama Muhammad Iqbal_


End file.
